Three Days
by LoveTheCoat
Summary: A short, two-part look at Brian's state of mind immediately post 1x22 and prior to 2x1. *COMPLETE*
1. Three Days

The last time Brian had been in the hospital was when his son was born. Birth and death. The circle of life.

He tried to hold himself together. But all he could see in his mind's eye were all the times he'd been with Justin. Laughing, dancing, teasing, fucking. It was almost too much. Brian didn't know what to do with all the emotions that were coursing through him. He'd known for a little while that Justin was more than just a convenient fuck. He knew he cared about him but faced with the prospect of losing him he was forced to recognize how much he cared. He thought he might love him…and not in the plutonic kind of way that he did Michael but in a more primal, yearning way. Like having Justin in his life was as important as having air to breath. Brian didn't know where to put those feelings, they were completely new. So he shoved them deep down, tried to bury them; tried to be numb to them.

Three days Brian sat, waiting, Michael by his side. Three days he lived inside his own head. Three days he didn't speak, save monosyllabic answers to the basic questions given him by Michael.

Something to eat? No.

Something to drink? No.

You should go home and shower. No.

Brain stayed at the hospital, refusing to change out of the stinky, bloodied tux and refusing to relinquish possession of the blood-stained scarf. He wore it around his neck; he ran it through his fingers. He picked at the tassels. When the doctors came out to tell them that Justin was out of the woods he used it to wipe his eyes of tears.

Justin was still in a coma, but he would survive. The doctors had been able to stop the bleeding, and the swelling was finally beginning to subside. He also showed signs of normal neurological activity. He wouldn't be a vegetable. Brian watched Jennifer weep with joy at the news while he let only a few tears slip from his eyes as he allowed himself to feel relief. Justin would live; he was alive.

Hearing those words, it was as if he could finally breathe again. The doctors tempered the good news with a gentle reminder that there was damage to his brain. That until Justin woke up there was no way to know how seriously he would be affected. The smiles disappeared and they were somber once more.

Brian avoided Jennifer's gaze after that. She had blamed him for showing up to the prom, saying as much the night it'd happened, yelling and hitting him. Brian had let her, not defending himself. Finally the doctors had to pull her away. Brian retreated then, hiding out in an empty hallway. That was where Michael had found him. He couldn't even acknowledge his friends presence because Brian knew Jennifer was right and he was to blame. Hell, he blamed himself, too. If he hadn't gone there and danced with Justin in front of everyone, kissed him in front of everyone, he wouldn't have incited Chris Hobbs to take a damn bat and smash Justin's head in. But how could he have known? He couldn't have and the rational part of his brain kept trying to make him realize that.

He knew he shouldn't shoulder the blame but he couldn't put it aside. So instead of being angry at the coward who had attacked Justin, unprovoked, he was angry with himself for putting Justin into that situation. He simply should have known better. He'd just wanted to make Justin's prom special; he'd wanted to give him a memory he could cherish, a moment that he could look back on that would make him smile. And still that damned song kept playing over and over in his head, making him sick. He wanted to forget everything from that night, but he couldn't.

Plus, who knew if Justin would even still be able to smile once he woke up.

When they knew Justin would survive, Brian sent Michael away. Off to Portland. He had his life to get back to living and even though Brian didn't want him to go he knew he had to go. It wasn't long after Michael reluctantly left that Jennifer, none too gently, told Brian he should go, too.

So he did.

He went home, showered for nearly an hour, than burned the bloody tuxedo. The scarf though, which was now a dark rust color instead of a bright red where the blood had stained the silk, the scarf he kept. And he wore it. As a reminder. As penance.

It wasn't but a few days before Brian resumed his old habits. He had no other way to put the images of Justin, bleeding on the cold cement, out of his head, to make the pain of that night disappear. He saw his friends judging him for his behavior but he didn't care. They couldn't understand and he couldn't make them understand. So he pretended things were as they used to be. Before Justin.

It was easy. No one expected anything more from him.

They didn't know he still wore the blood-stained scarf under his clothes.

Every day.

Every fucking day.


	2. The Days After Three Days

Brian hadn't intended to stay away - it just kind of happened. Then the days turned into weeks turned into a month.

At first it was because he wanted to avoid Jennifer. He couldn't look at her. There was too much blame in her eyes, and too much guilt in his heart. It was a feeling he wasn't used too - the guilt. He'd always lived his life with the mantra "no excuses, no apologies, no regrets". But now he did regret. He regretted going to that damned prom and dancing and kissing and egging on that fucking asshole who bashed Justin's head with a bat.

He would always regret that.

He heard through the grapevine (Lindsay) that Justin had woken up. It had been four days since the bashing but he was coherent and talking and he was asking for Brian. She pressed Brian to visit him, but he didn't know what he could do or say. He would only be in the way. He was no good at comfort…and there was Jennifer to consider. He could only assume the awful things she felt by seeing him and so Brian acted selflessly, and he stayed away.

It was for himself, too; he was still completely freaked out – though he would never, ever admit that to a single person.

After a couple days he heard from Lindsay again - Justin kept asking about him. He was insistent in his desire to find out about Brian, and he wanted to see him. Brian didn't know where to put the feelings and emotions the news stirred in him – it was a kind of aching desire that felt heavy on his damaged heart. He liked it, yet hated it at the same time. Being a heartless shit was so much simpler…

So Brian didn't go to the hospital. At least, he didn't go when anyone else was there.

The night started at Babylon. He was standing at the bar listening to Ted and Emmett talk. They'd gone to see Justin earlier in the day and they were discussing it loudly; Brian assumed it was for his benefit, that they were trying to guilt him into going to visit. He wanted to laugh and tell them it wouldn't work. That they should shut up, and that no amount of words from them would suddenly make him decide he should go visit Justin. So he ignored them and their obvious glances towards him and instead watched the guys on the dancefloor bump and grind and touch and sweat. That was when he saw him - a young guy that at any other time would have drawn Brian in like a moth to a flame, but not on this night.

He reminded Brian far too much of Justin.

He was small in stature, thin, with spiky blond hair and a wide grin that he flashed at Brian when he noticed him staring. It was all too much and Brian's senses began assaulting him – revolting against him and ignoring all of his rational, uncaring thoughts. He was getting too emotional and he couldn't even convince himself that he didn't care.

Without a word to either Ted or Emmett, Brian abandoned his half-finished beer and left the club. He thought he heard Ted calling after him but he couldn't be sure, the thumpa thumpa of the music combined with the sound of blood rushing to Brian's pounding head drowned out all other sounds.

Brian drove aimlessly, or so he thought. When he found himself at the hospital, though, he knew he hadn't been. He sat in the jeep for a long time, staring at the hospital entrance. It was late, and there was little to no traffic – cars or otherwise. He knew where Justin was - he knew just how to get to him. Yet something kept his feet on the floorboards of his jeep, and his hands on the steering wheel.

Slowly any warmth that had accumulated in the jeep faded away. It may have been spring in Pittsburgh but it still got chilly late at night and Brian felt isolation and loneliness creep in on him, along with the damp chill in the air.

With a heavy sigh, he raked his hands across his face and stepped from the jeep. He had put it off long enough. He needed to see, with his own eyes. He needed to erase the image of the bloodied, unconscious Sunshine with the living, clean Sunshine. Maybe he'd start to heal, too.

No one questioned him as he walked the quiet hallways. He knew where he was going and he moved with purpose. He could hear soft whispers drifting down into the hall from places unknown, as well as the occasional beep of medical machinery as he made his way through the labyrinthine corridors.

Eventually he found himself where he knew he needed to be. The corridor came to a dead-end here and there were maybe ten or so small, private rooms where patients who required constant observation and access to medical staff were sleeping. The doors all had windows so that hospital personnel could observe the patients without disturbing them.

Brian moved towards the door behind which he knew Justin slept.

He stared through the window, looking past his disheveled reflection to see Justin, a white bandage affixed at his hairline. He was asleep. Brian raised his hand to the neck of his shirt, fingering the edge of the blood-stained scarf that was layered beneath his shirt.

Asleep, Justin looked so young, so vulnerable. Brian realized he'd never watched Justin sleeping before because whenever he'd stayed over at the loft he was always awake before Brian, and Brian always woke up with the kid watching him.

Brian stared, feeling swirling turmoil in his chest. He forced himself to ignore it for fear he might throw up.

"Can I help you?"

Brian started at the stern voice that spoke from behind him. Looking over his shoulder he saw a nurse holding a clipboard in her hands. Her expression was suspicious and cold.

"No," Brian answered shortly, turning back to the window.

"Visiting hours ended several hours ago," the nurse said pointedly. Brian simply continued to watch Sunshine sleep.

Sunshine.

After that dance – that fucking amazing dance - when they'd kissed at the jeep and he'd smiled at him that way...fuck. For the first time in his life Brian had actually felt butterflies in his stomach. Though Justin had smiled at him thousands of times before, that night his grin was a display of pure fucking joy. It had been so genuine and pure and it had been just for Brian.

Shit.

"I know," Brian finally replied.

Sensing movement to his left, Brian glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw the nurse looking at him thoughtfully, her eyes seeming to examine him. Brian turned his attention back to Justin, who suddenly rolled over so his back was to the door; his bandaged head and soft features were now hidden from view. The thin sheet that covered him twisted with his movements, tangled in his legs, and Brian caught sight of bare skin at the base of his back where his t-shirt and shorts met.

The smooth, soft skin called out to him and Brian swallowed hard. He recalled the last time he had touched Justin and a sharp pain shot through his stomach. Brian closed his eyes with a sigh as he gently rested his forehead against the cool of the glass.

"Would you like a chair?" The nurse was still next to Brian, bringing him back to the present.

Stepping back from the door Brian shook his head and without a word, turned and left.

The following night, after scoring with several tricks in the backroom of Babylon, Brian once again found himself in the parking lot of the hospital. It wasn't as hard to go inside this time.

When he arrived outside Justin's room, Brian noticed a single, solitary chair against the wall opposite his door. Brian looked around him but he saw no one.

He stood for awhile, watching Justin sleep. He tossed and turned as if he was uncomfortable, and his brow was deeply furrowed. Brian wanted to go inside and lay down next to him. He felt an unfamiliar longing to put his arms around Justin and hold him, to sooth away his bad dreams.

Brian was still very confused over the way he was feeling and what it meant. After awhile he sat in the chair, pulling the tassled end of the scarf out from beneath the hem of his sleeveless tee and twisting the threads around his fingers as he thought about everything that had happened since that night he spotted Justin under that street light. A part of him wanted to go back in time to tell himself to ignore the kid, forget about him, but another part of him – a larger part of him – was clinging preciously to all the memories since that night. Justin was interwoven into his life now. He had been there when Gus was born for Christ's sake! He fucking chose the name for Brian's son.

Shit.

"You're back," the nurse from the night before appeared again, the same clipboard she'd had the night before in her hand.

Brian dropped the scarf tassel he was twisting and in one swift movement hid it beneath the tails of his shirt before he looked up at her.

She didn't speak to him again as she went about her work, checking on each patient and making notes on the charts that hung outside each door. Brian was glad she was silent. He didn't want to talk yet was glad for her familiar presence.

He left after she'd passed Justin's room.

Back at the jeep Brian checked his cell phone; 12 missed calls from Michael, 12 voicemails also from Michael, and 24 unread text messages from, you guessed it, Michael. With an irritated sigh, Brian deleted all the messages. He didn't want to talk to Mikey and he certainly did not want to listen to his sympathetic and worried voice.

As was becoming his routine, every day Brian left work at 5:30pm for Woody's, where he consumed enough Beam to numb the persistent ache in his chest. After Woody's he'd head directly to Babylon, not waiting for Ted or Emmett but charging in. Going straight for the backroom, he'd let guy after guy suck him off. No fucking though. Brian wasn't ready for that.

He didn't dance much anymore, only venturing out of the backroom to get a drink when the ache he tried to numb started to rear its head. He'd catch glimpses of Ted and Emmett every now and then. He knew they were watching him, and judging him, and talking to Debbie and Mel and Linds and probably Michael too. Hell, he bet they all were condemning him every morning during breakfast at the diner.

He knew he wasn't behaving the way anyone expected him too - but who was to say that what they expected was the right way to behave? Brian had always marched to the beat of his own drummer and now was no different. The fact that they expected him to behave a certain way almost drove him further in the other direction. He was stubborn that way – and while he knew it wasn't really fair to Justin, Brian also knew he wasn't ready to see him and talk to him. He was actually terrified of seeing him…seeing him awake that is. He feared he would do something else to cause him injury, to bring him pain. And that was not what Brian wanted.

Days of work, then nights of clubbing, drugs and drinking followed by hours at the hospital started taking their toll. Exhaustion tried to set in, but Brian was a pro at handling himself even when sleep deprived. He had never slept much anyway, and now when he did fall asleep he had his own brand of nightmare – the soundtrack was the constant and repeating sound of the dull thud that he'd heard that night; the sound of a solid wood bat hitting skull – hitting Justin; and the blood. His dreams were always tinted with red.

He continued to ignore his friends, and he continued to ignore all of Michael's attempts to contact him. It was easier to pretend things were okay when he didn't have all of his friends asking him why he wouldn't go see Justin, and what the fuck was wrong with him, and every other question that only stirred the guilt that he was trying so hard to bury. He had his own way to deal with it – and sitting alone at the hospital in the quiet of the night was his therapy. It was how he watched over Justin and made sure he was okay – because he had to know that he was okay. Brian's hold on things was entirely dependent upon Sunshine healing, going home, and having a fucking fabulous life in the face of the violence.

After two weeks of visiting the hospital every night Brian had begun to become more comfortable with the night nurse. He learned her name was Stella (he laughed at that, eliciting a curious look from her – _she obviously was not a classic film fan_, he thought sadly), and while he never told her anything about himself or why he visited every night she seemed to already know. She started filling him in on Justin's rehabilitation progress, and though Brian never asked her for any information, she always seemed to know what it was he needed to hear.

Soon Brian's days were measured by his night-time visits to the hospital. Work, then Woody's, then Babylon; the routine was just that, a routine. Brian found no real pleasure in the pursuits but he followed them anyway. It was what he did, and all he knew how to do.

The ache within him, the one he was constantly trying to numb, had become so much a part of him that he hardly noticed it anymore, but each night when Justin would thrash, or struggle against some nightmare assailant Brian's heart would leap from his chest and it was all he could do to stop himself running into the room.

He began to think more about the feelings and emotions he was having, too, which was an interesting exercise for him. They were only getting stronger with each passing week and Brian was quickly overwhelmed – unable to push them away any longer. He hesitated to say it was love he was feeling, because he'd never believed in love. But he was starting to fear that was what he was feeling and as much as he tried to push it away or turn it off, it always came back unbidden and when least expected.

At times though, it was nice. Like when he thought about the way Justin would look at him while they danced at Babylon…A heat that wasn't unwelcome would blossom in his chest and it was nice. Slowly, Brian began to accept that maybe it, love, wasn't such a bad thing – that maybe to be _in love _with someone was not all pain and injury and hurt. It was easy for him to think these things while Justin was hurt, though, and Brian wondered if or how his opinion would change when Justin was released and came to find him. He knew he would come to find him. He knew he couldn't avoid him forever.

The feel of possibly being _in love_ with someone was a lot different than just loving someone…

He loved Michael and Debbie, Vic, and he loved Lindsay, hell he even loved Emmett and Ted in a way, too. But that love was familial, plutonic, brotherly. What he was feeling for Justin was much more than that. It was powerful, seductive, terrifying, rendering him powerless if he thought about it too much.

He cared more about Justin than he had any other human being in his life, besides Gus that is – and it was a realization that brought every decision and rule in Brian's life into question. He guessed it had started around the time Justin took the SAT's and started talking about colleges. When the possibility that Justin might leave Pittsburgh, go away, was presented Brian got a bit nervous. He'd gotten used to having the kid around – he'd grown dependant on having him around. Hell, he kind of liked having him around – for the most part, and when he wasn't being an annoying little twat.

Brian was secretly relieved when Justin told them all he'd decided to go to PIFA. That meant he would still be around.

Brian, spending another night getting his dick and balls sucked by two guys in the backroom at Babylon, thought about these things while instructing the men in their chore. No one knew because Brian refused to say, but Justin was really all he thought about a lot of the time.

Feeling the accumulation of the past many weeks of sleep deprivation trying to take hold, Brian struggled to keep his eyes open even as the two men moved their mouths all over his stiff cock. Heavy eyelids drooping, Brian saw movement and instinctively looked up. It was with no real surprise that he saw Michael standing over him.

"Hey Mikey," Brian said with no real emotion.

"Is that all you have to say," Michael replied…

_*...and so begins Season 2 of the show*_

* * *

**A/N: I hadn't intended on adding anything more to Three Days - but then today I was bitten by this bunny and I had to get it out. So, here it is, likely imperfect and maybe with typos, etc, but what I can say, I wrote it in one day and it wasn't beta'd. If you're following It's Only Time, don't worry, I feel confident saying there should be another chapter update there this weekend. I hope you like it, and please drop me a comment if you do like it (or if you have some constructive criticism!). Thanks all!**


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